


I'm The King; You Can Be My Servant Boy

by dancemmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And have fun., Don't let your heart get burned., Emotional Manipulation, I dunno how to tag, Imma stop now., Just read it., Mentions of Johnlock - Freeform, Mmhm, Moriarty is obsessed, Not a fluffy fic at all, Possible violence, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sherlock's just not that into James, in the future, probably creepy, yep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancemmy/pseuds/dancemmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty is not sane or capable of love.</p>
<p>But he is capable of obsession, and possessive behavior. </p>
<p>No matter what, he would have Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

James Moriarty was not a sane man, or a man capable of love.

 

He was not loved as a child, so he was never taught how to love. But, this is not some sob story about how little Jimmy was neglected as a child. No, this is a story about the one thing that the consulting criminal _was_ capable of.

 

Obsession.

 

The man became obsessed with a person whose mind seemed to match his own, Sherlock Holmes. Not only was he smart, but he was aesthetically pleasing as well. His cheekbones were so prominent, and what he wouldn’t do to grab onto those dark curls and _pull;_ to be able to watch him squirm.

 

He could keep him as a pet, after he finally drew him in. He could show the detective how good the dark side could be. He could….. _well,_ I think everyone gets the point.  No need to get excited yet.

 

The obsession started when little Jimmy was just thirteen, and killed Carl Powers. That asshole. The champion swimmer was killed by drowning, Jim always loved irony. Everyone assumed that it was a _tragic accident._ Jim even took his shoes, (as a souvenir, of course) and nobody noticed. Well, nobody except an eight year old boy. The older boy was, admittedly, impressed. He decided to keep an eye on the boy; but he didn’t pay him too much mind…….Not yet.

  
  


**_~~*****~~_ **

 

Fast forward a good amount of years, and Sherlock started a website. The Science Of Deduction. Moriarty started commenting on it; both as _‘_ theimprobableone _’_ and _‘Anonymous’_ ; two personas he was using to try and woo Sherlock. Super fan and arch enemy. He’s interested to see which one little Sherly will go for; his little sociopathic genius.

 

When Sherlock announced that he was moving in with John, Moriarty nearly went _berserk_. Sebastian Moran, his trusted sniper, attempted to calm him down; but it didn’t work. He ordered a bomb to be placed across the street from 221B, and as many bugs as possible to be placed in the flat. If he couldn’t have Sherlock; _nobody could._

 

It was okay, though. John was adamant that he wasn’t gay. Sherlock seemed to be smitten, but, if the other man truly was straight, or just wouldn’t admit that he loved Sherlock; his little Sherly would still be his and wouldn’t have to die.

  


_**~~*****~~~** _

At one point, Jim saw that Sherlock was getting bored. His little detective had been so good lately, the criminal thought that he deserved a reward. That reward would be; a little game. He had a pink phone, identical to the pink iPhone from the serial killing cabbie he sponsored, in a strong box in the building he planted the bomb in. He then detonated the bomb. His little pet’s reward had begun.

  
  


He used Carl Powers as the first puzzle, the case that drove them together. It seemed fitting. He gave Sherlock 12 hours, and added some subtle flirting into the phone calls. He gave him damsels in distress to save. He even let them go when Sherlock solved the puzzles.

  
  


Jim had shown his super fan persona during one of his puzzles. _‘Jim from IT’_. He purposefully made himself as obviously gay as possible, and left his number for Sherlock. But, it seemed that Sherlock wasn’t attracted to desperation. Well, he always had his fallback.

 

He was utterly delighted when Sherlock set the meeting at the pool. _Oh,_ what a smart boy he is! He got dressed up in his favorite suit, slicked back his hair; and, of course, had someone steal Sherlock’s little pet and strap a bomb jacket to him. He didn’t really need John, anyway, soon he’d be with Jim and forget all about him.

 

And he was sure not a trace of bitterness showed when he said; _“I gave you my number, thought you might call.”_

  


Sherlock practically rejected him, and showed that he was too _feeling_ to go for Jim at the moment; and all he kept saying was: _“Are you okay John? John? John?”_ ; Jim felt rage beyond anything he’s ever felt before, and a bit of disappointment.

 

He made sure to promise one thing; _“I’ll burn you. I’ll burn the **heart** out of you.”_

 

Then, he left.

 

_“You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened--”_

 

**OH HELL NO.** He called his snipers back, and barrelled back into the swimming pool. Jealous rage was burning in him, so strong it was controlling his very being. They were both going to die. Both of them. John could not have his pet. And Sherlock? If he was idiotic enough to think that this….this idiot was better than Jim; then _**SCREW HIM.**_ He could _**DIE**_ for all Jim cared! In fact, he WOULD.

 

Just as he was about to let Sherlock shoot the discarded bomb jacket, his phone rang. Which, reminded him: _“Hello, Jim?! Crime empire. You need to be alive to run it.”_

 

So, he left. For real this time. He could, and would, find a way to make Sherlock his. It’d be okay. He couldn’t believe he nearly doubted it.

  


_**~~*****~~** _

  
  
  


Jim planned _“The Fall”_. It was very carefully planned, and had three possible outcomes.

 

_1) Sherlock would let Jim’s snipers shoot the people he ‘cares’ about. (Wonderful)_

_2) Sherlock would actually kill himself. (Not the best option, but still alright.)_

_3) Sherlock would find a way to fake his death, cleverly (This is the option Moriarty was hoping for)_

 

Sherlock, did, indeed do the third option. He didn’t even check to see if Jim was alive before he did. Jim faked his death, and went into hiding.

 

Now, you’re probably staring at the empty space after _‘Jim faked his death, and went into hiding’_ and are thinking “WHERE’S THE EXPLANATION?!”. You’re not getting one, dear reader. A magician never reveals his secrets.

  


**_~~*****~~_ **

  


He allowed Sherlock to take down part of his empire. A reward for being so clever. When he came back to London, Jim watched as his pet took down Charles Magnussen. He was so proud. His little Sherlock became a _murderer_. What a good boy.

 

Meanwhile, John got married, so his one and only threat for Sherlock’s affection was, seemingly, out of the picture. Wonderful.

 

Now, he just had to save his detective from exile; which, meant that he just had to come back. Easy enough.

 

He broadcast his face all over England, asking a question meant only for Sherlock:

 

_“Did you miss me?”_

 

 

 

 


	2. Visits, Food, and Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes to visit a very disheveled Sherlock. 
> 
> He takes care of his pet.

Now that Jim was back from the dead, he could go see Sherlock again. He needed to see how his pet was faring; and after all, he read a book about pets before, and it said they need social interaction. He knew his Sherlock is special, but without John around, he probably wasn’t socializing much.

 

Not that he should be with anybody but Jim, anyway.

 

So, Moriarty decided to get gussied up to go see his…..property, who thought he was his ‘arch nemesis’. How cute was he? As Jim rifled through his many, many dress shirts, suit jackets, and dress pants; he chuckled. Soon enough, Sherlock would know what he truly is, where he truly belongs, and everything would be wonderful.

 

He made an ‘Ah!’ sound when he settled on an outfit. A light blue dress shirt, (honestly, blue was never his color; but this particular shade was sure would make him look _stunning_ ,), a black suit jacket, with matching color dress pants. Now, he needed to pick the perfect tie.

 

He walked over to where he kept his ties, and rifled through them. Too gaudy, too dark, too light. He found the perfect one after almost an hour of searching. It was tan. Not too light, not too dark, and it’d go perfect on top of the blue and under the black. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, but, Jim still felt he should look his best.

 

He quickly dressed, and slicked back his hair. While straightening his tie in the mirror, he took a moment to appreciate himself. He did look stunning, if he does say so himself (and he does).

 

Briskly walking over to his laptop, he checked what little Sherly’s doing right now; heading out. That’s actually more perfect than he could’ve planned. Jim’ll be there when he gets back. The criminal chuckled to himself. _Oh, Sherlock. How boring your life was without me. Don’t worry, Daddy will make it better_ , the man thought to himself, before heading out the door.

                                                                                                     

                                                                                                  _**~~~***~~~**_

 

Jim broke into 221B with ease. It was almost too easy. He’d forgive Sherlock for now; he did leave the poor boy with nothing to exercise his mind with, it’s only understandable that the man is a little soft.

__

The armchairs are sitting there, just like they always were. Jim strode over to John’s chair and sat in it; hoping to make the statement to Sherlock: _‘John’s gone, it’s all about Daddy now.’_

 

The criminal had to wait two hours before the detective walked in the door. His curls were tossed in total disarray, there were dark circles under his eyes; he was even thinner than before. He didn’t even notice Jim sitting in the chair that was labeled ‘John’s Chair’.

 

Jim sighed in disappointment, trust his pet not to take care of himself while he was away. Sherlock jumped from the noise, his head snapping over to the smaller man, “......Moriarty. So, you truly are alive, then.”

 

“Yes, darling,” A small smirk appeared on the madman’s face, “I like myself far too much to kill myself.”

 

The taller man rolled his eyes, and grit out one word; “How?”

 

“That would be telling. Now, sit.” Jim slowly stood up, and was filled with pride to see that the consulting detective had sat down. Probably, he was too exhausted to argue. But, Jim was still counting it as a win.

 

He strolled into the kitchen, thinking to himself how wonderful it is that he got to care for Sherlock already. Maybe confuse the great detective. Maybe, for him to start getting attached and/or dependent. Maybe, just maybe, start making him think Jim isn’t totally heartless, (which he pretty much is, but Sherly needn’t know that).

 

He found the most bland, but filling, things he could find (he had a feeling that too many flavors, at the moment, would send Sherlock into an overload of some kind. He didn’t want that, at the moment. He needed to make Sherlock _better_ not worse); and chuckled when he found various body parts in the fridge. So cute.

 

He also got a cup of water, and brought them both out to Sherlock; who looked up at Jim suspiciously, “Did you poison it?”

 

“Sherlock, do you really think I’d kill you with something as dull as poison? No, you look awful. So, eat it.” The criminal shoved the plate of food at Sherlock, and knelt by him with the cup of water.

 

The detective reluctantly started eating, but tried to stop several times. Every time he tried, Jim just talked like a disappointed parent, made him drink water, and shoved some more in his mouth. This didn’t stop until every drop of water and bit of food is gone.

 

After that, Jim smirked to see that Sherlock’s eyes were barely open. Okay, so, admittedly; Jim had _thought_ about drugging the food, but with how Sherlock looked, he knew he didn’t need to, “Someone’s sleepy,” He kept his voice soft, but high and mocking, as if talking to a child or an animal.

 

“You….Leave.” The great Sherlock Holmes was too exhausted to even speak in full sentences.

 

Jim shook his head, and stood up. He took the plate from Sherlock, bringing it and the glass back into the kitchen. He then returned to his sleepy pet, and helped him out of his chair, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he cooed.

 

He started leading the man to his own bedroom, and Sherlock tried valiantly to fight back. He obviously didn’t want Jim in his bedroom, which made him want to go in more. He wouldn’t have his possessions disobeying him; but he needed him to get dependent before he started teaching him how to behave.

 

So, Moriarty allowed the fighting. He just continued to drag Sherlock along, opened the door, and shoved him into bed. To make up for his rough treatment, he tucked the man in, and climbed in on top of the blankets next to him. He started petting the man’s curls, ignoring when he tried to flinch away. “Well, how about a story? This is the story of a lonely detective…”

 

Jim told a story about a lonely detective who fell for a bad man. How he couldn’t live without the bad man. He chose a story like that for a reason, it was just another thing to lead to Sherlock getting attached to him. By the time he finished his story, his audience had drifted to sleep.

 

The criminal slipped out of the bed, turned off the light, and left the room. He left a note on the table; _‘Here’s my number, Sherly. Get in touch any time. xx - JM’._ When the detective awoke, he’d find it, and...well, who knew.

 

James Moriarty exited 221B Baker Street, proud of himself. Sherlock would be his, probably sooner than expected. Today hadn’t been much of a fight; but the man wasn’t so delusional as to think Sherlock was ready yet. He was just exhausted.

 

Soon, though. Very soon.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idek what this was, or why I updated it again so soon. I got bored and I just wrote. 
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback would be lovely, honestly I....have no clue what I'm doing.


	3. Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim comes up with a plan to make Sherlock crave him. 
> 
> He very much enjoys observing the results.

Much to Jim’s disappointment, Sherlock did not call or text his number. He still had cameras in 221B, so he could watch his favorite little detective squirm.

 

When he woke up the next morning; Sherlock got up, paced around a bit, muttering to himself. Jim wondered, while watching, if he broke him for a minute, but then shrugged. He didn’t really care. He watched as the detective composed himself, and walked out of his room.

 

Moriarty quickly switched to the view from one of his other cameras. He watched the detective rip his lovely letter in half, (oh, what a shame), and run his hands through his hair.

 

The criminal swore he could read Sherlock’s thoughts, his emotions, how confused and unsure of what Jim’s motives were.

 

Sherlock ruffled his hair, went to get dressed (Which, of course, Jim watched with glee) and fled from his flat. Jim was sure he was going to see _John_ to calm himself down. He groaned and rolled his eyes. Oh, well. He could get some things done, and think of other ways to make Sherlock need him while he wasn’t watching the detective.

 

                                                                                                      _**~~***~~**_

 

Jim paced back and forth, and hummed. The key here would be is to make Sherlock so damn _bored_ that he was begging for anything to occupy himself. And then Jim comes to save the day.

 

Yes, that’s the plan he thought he’d go with. To keep him bored, all he had to do was make sure no interesting cases surfaced. Which, was simple enough. He did control _most_ of the criminals in not only this country, but others as well. He had people everywhere who did what he wanted, when he wanted. None of them would think twice if Jim told them to cease anything that wasn’t completely necessary.

 

Granted, he couldn’t control the few novice criminals who do their own thing with no planning whatsoever; but Sherlock never took interest in cases having to do with those kinds of criminals, so he needn’t worry about that.

 

He danced his way over to his laptop and opened it. He sent a message to each and every one of his clients:

 

_“No crimes whatsoever; unless absolutely, 100% necessary until further notice. Contact me if you feel one may be necessary, and I’ll give you the go ahead or the red light. - JM.”_

  
It pained him a little to put a pause to business; it was going to not only bore Sherlock, but probably bore him as well. But, Jim Moriarty was nothing if not determined; and getting his lovely pet to realize his place is the number one priority right now. So, he’d risk overwhelming boredom if it meant meeting that goal.

His clients wouldn’t be happy, he knew that for sure, but nobody would risk crossing Jim. Bad things happen to the people who don’t behave. They usually become articles of clothing. Namely; shoes. Jim doesn’t _wear_ the shoes, of course. He’s way too classy for that.

 

He took out his phone and smirked, while he was contacting people, he might as well shoot his darling Sherly a message. He put in the detective’s number and typed out the message; _‘You ripped up my note? How rude. xxxJM’_

 

He wondered what Sherlock’s reaction to the text would be, if he would reply, what would happen.

 

Ten minutes later, he got a reply: _‘I have no desire to be in contact with you. SH.’_

 

Jim growled under his breath; his good little boy is back to being difficult, apparently. Hm, maybe he’d let him be bored for longer than planned, if he didn’t want to be well behaved. He quickly typed out a reply; _‘Too bad. JM’_

 

There was no response from Sherlock.

 

 

 

                                                                                                      _**~~****~~**_

 

Several clients asked if they could commit crimes over the three weeks Jim kept his ban on. They didn’t seem to get the concept of _necessary_. He was actually on the phone with one of his clients _again_. Something about some guy crossing them and blah blah **blah**. Jim didn’t care. “No, no, no. Listen. Murder can be committed at any time, and I don’t think this man will be off of the planet any time soon. So, if you kill him and I find out about it? I will find you, I will _skin_ you, and I will turn you into shoes.”

__

To the criminal’s satisfaction, the man was stuttering; trying to get out an apology, but too frightened to get one out. Moriarty had no interest in hearing the man’s poor attempts at English, so he said a cheerful goodbye, and hung up.

__

It’d been three weeks, he was sure Sherlock must be crawling the walls by then. He strolled to his laptop, flicking it open. He casually brought up his live-time footage from 221B. Sherlock, like the puppy he was in Jim’s mind, was running around the flat. The detective was throwing things around, talking to his skull (Jim muted the sound because he had no interest in Sherlock’s babble).

Sherlock strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a severed head from the fridge, and started…..dancing around the flat with it. Jim laughed, throwing his head back. Oh, Sherly really _was_ bored.

 

The madman picked up his phone and shot the genius detective a text message. It read: _‘Aw, is somebody bored? xJM’._

 

He watched in amusement as Sherlock put the head down, his lips moving to say a word that Jim couldn’t hear since he had everything on mute. The look on the curly haired man’s face when he saw the text was the stuff of comedies. Moriarty couldn’t tell if he was scared, confused, angry, or all of the above.

 

A reply from Sherlock came a moment after the man looked at it; _‘Maybe. SH’_

 

The feeling of pride that Jim felt when he watched Sherlock sit down, phone in hand, staring intently at it, cannot be described. The detective was so bored, that he was willing to sit, staring at his phone like a lovesick teenager; just for something to occupy his time.

 

He made him wait for two whole minutes, and his impatient little detective wasn’t happy about it. He was practically pouting by the time Jim sent him; _‘Oh no. Poor little Sherlylocks.  JMx’_

 

Jim was dissolved into hysterical laughter at Sherlock’s reaction to his new nickname. He looked particularly disgusted; his nose crinkled and he blinked at the screen once. Twice. Three. Four. Five times.

 

_‘My name is Sherlock. SH’_

 

Moriarty had to regain his composure. He shook his head a few times, biting at his lip. He kept his eyes transfixed on Sherlock as he typed out; _‘I know, my dear ;) JM’_

 

This one, had the consultant criminal leaning in close to his laptop, gauging Sherlock’s reaction. Of course, the innocent little virgin didn’t pick up on the flirting; he just squinted at his phone.

 

_‘I have experimentation to do. SH’_

_‘Does that include dancing with heads? M’_

 

The rejection pissed Jim off. Sherlock didn’t realize he’d be the best thing that ever happened to him? That he is the best thing to ever happen to him? Then, fine. Let’s see how another week of boredom fares him.

 

 

_**** _

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback appreciated. I'm really enjoying writing this; I don't know. So, yeah! Tell me what y'all think!
> 
> (By the way, I'm sure it's probably shown by now, I'm as American as it gets. So, please don't judge me too harshly)


	4. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets to visit a VERY bored Sherlock.

Jim went a week without checking on Sherlock. The ban on crime had now been enforced for 4 weeks. His clients were getting antsy, but Jim knew none of them would do anything. They’re too scared of him.

 

The day that the criminal finally allowed himself to check in on his pet, he saw exactly what he wanted. Sherlock Holmes looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. He knew the detective got nuts when he didn’t have a case, but he couldn’t have guessed just _how_ bad it got.

 

He hummed, rubbing his chin. He could use this, definitely. He could be the savior who made it all better. Even though, when back in his right mind, Sherlock would most likely go back to his difficult self; he’d still most likely feel _something_ akin to gratitude or confusion. Probably confusion.

 

The criminal pushed himself out of his chair, and strode over to grab a suit. He still needed to look amazing. Even if his suit was going to wrinkled. He’d have someone deal with that.

 

His pet came first, above everything, at least for now. Nothing else seemed more interesting.

  
  


**_~~*****~~_ **

 

The door to Sherlock’s flat was wide open. Jim tutted, his eyes rolling. He noted in his mind that his pet forgets all regard for personal safety when he’s bored. He stepped inside, looking around at the trashed place. “Sheeerrrrlllllyyyyyy,” He called in a sing-song voice.

 

The called man barreled into the room, his eyes looking cloudy and crazed. He didn’t even say anything, he just glared at Jim, bouncing slightly.

 

“Oh no, darling, you look positively _awful_. Again.” The Irishman walked over to one of the armchairs, and sat in it, gracefully.

 

Sherlock stood there, drumming his fingers against his leg.

 

The two just stared at eachother, for a full minute, before Jim found himself with a lap full of squirming consulting detective. He was actually surprised, the other man was in worse mental condition than he thought from the overwhelming boredom.

 

The shorter of the two started petting the gangly mess of limbs in his lap, unable to keep the smirk from his face, “Oh, how bored you must be,” he cooed, humming lightly.

 

The pile of limbs lifted his face and gave Jim such a pleading expression, it have had broken the criminal’s heart….if he had one. He could easily read what he wanted _‘Dear Jim, would you please fix it for me?’_

 

Moriarty hummed, his fingers running through Sherlock’s curls, “I’ll make it all better, don’t you worry, sweetie.”

 

Jim’s little pet blinked up at him, with his bright (but somewhat cloudy at the moment) blue eyes. He was trying to decide if Jim was actually going to fix it, but then decided he would. Jim had never, ever broken a promise to Sherlock. The fall? That happened. Every other promise he ever made to Sherlock? They _all_ happened. One way or another.

 

The consultant criminal pulled his phone out, using his free hand to pet the detective in his lap. He thought to himself, that this is how it’s supposed to be. Sherlock being nice and well behaved, and Jim making him feel content with cases. And, of course, Sherlock giving him unconditional affection; but, the curly haired man wasn’t ready for that part. He typed out a text with one hand, sending it to every single one of his clients; _‘Crime’s back on. Make it interesting, and clever; or there will be consequences. M’_

 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, sniffling pathetically. He really didn’t handle being bored well. Jim pulled him closer, starting to rock him. It was his job to comfort him after he did something to make him behave, no matter how tedious and stupid it was. Pets need comfort, or they grow farther away from their caregivers. That’s what it said in that book Jim read. Sherlock was already too far away from Jim, getting farther away would ruin everything.

 

The madman started humming some random piece of classical music to calm the detective’s poor, unstimulated mind. With the way the man was relaxing in his arms, it was working. It took Jim a moment to realize that he was humming _‘La Gazza Ladra’_ , by Rossini. Hm. Well, as long as it was working, it didn’t matter was music he used to calm Sherlock down.

 

The detective nuzzled closer and Jim noticed that his suit was getting wet. He sighed, of course his pet would decide to cry because of boredom. He always was overdramatic. He slowly wiped the man’s tears, and mumbled as if talking to a child after they had a nightmare; “Hush, hush, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

 

He watched as Sherlock’s tears slowed. He blinked up at Jim, looking particularly helpless. His eyes started drooping and Jim went back to humming. He tucked the curly haired man’s head under his chin, holding him like one would a toddler.

 

He stood up, easily picking the other man up with him as he weighed about one hundred pounds at most (an unhealthy weight, but he honestly could care less about that), and started walking back and forth. He was surprised that he could easily do this, but it was fine with him.

 

He could feel the feather light man in his arms drop off to sleep, and he smirked. He brought him into his bedroom, and tried to put him down on his bed; but Sherlock clinged to him like a scared child.

 

Jim’s grin was nearly feral as he laid down in the bed, with the detective on top of him. It was getting closer to when Jim could actually start teaching the man how to behave.

 

Soon. Very soon, indeed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter's a bit shorter than usual and very sucky. I just wanted to get you guys something and today was a very stressful day so....I was multitasking while writing 80% of it. Sorry again.


	5. The 'Morning After'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Jim stays with Sherlock

Sherlock woke up a few times in the night, but Jim soothed him back to sleep each time. The detective clung to the criminal all night, and the one being clung onto felt a pang of annoyance. Having to lay in bed all night was boring, annoying. But, one look at his good boy, and the annoyance faded away to amusement.

 

He snapped a picture at some point, not sure if he was doing it to use against Sherlock at some point, or a memento of his pet’s progress. His little Sherlock.

 

At around six in the morning, Jim finally was able to escape from the clinging mess of limbs and slip out of bed. He went to the kitchen, not interested in eating or making Sherlock food at all; but he was going to make some coffee. As he was doing that, he could hear Sherlock stirring.

 

He remained where he was, listening for the other man. Let it be known that he honestly didn’t care if Sherlock was okay, or if he was awakening; he was just interested to see if he snapped back to his right mind-frame yet, or if he wouldn’t until one of his _people_ ended up doing something interesting enough to get his attention.

  
  


A few minutes later, after Jim had successfully made a cup of coffee for himself, (Sherlock was well behaved, but not enough for Jim to do something too incredibly nice for him,) a pair of feet padded into the kitchen.

 

Cold dark eyes met warm blue ones. At closer examination, the blue pair of eyes were still cloudy, and the body of the man they belonged to was still twitchy and jumpy. So, not totally better, then. “You’re still here?” It was almost impossible to tell if the tall, gangly man was relieved or annoyed.

 

“Yes, sunshine. I’m still here. G’morning,” The shorter man replied, taking a sip from his coffee.

 

“Leave.” Sherlock tried, but if he thought that was going to work; his mind really must’ve shut down on him.

 

“No,” Jim said simply, leaning against the counter. His eyes narrowed slightly, waiting to see if Sherlock continued to insist he leave. If he did, then the criminal would have to pull some sort of disciplinary action.

 

As if he knew that it was stupid to fight anymore, or maybe his brain was just that addled that he could get distracted super easily, Sherlock changed the subject; “Is that coffee?”

 

A golden opportunity, right there. If he made Sherlock drink from something of his, maybe it would instill something, “Yes, it is. Wonderful observation, darling. Want some?” Jim held the cup out to the curly haired man.

 

Sherlock, in response, then narrowed in eyes. He didn’t look totally on board, but slowly took the cup that Jim insistently offered. He took a sip, somewhat warily, and then he grinned. “It’s good.” The detective really did look like a puppy this way.

 

“Isn’t it?” Moriarty allowed the other to take two more mouthfuls before he takes the cup back, “That’s enough for right now, don’t you think?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, and tried to grab the cup back, but it was kept, skillfully out of his reach. “Moriarty--”

 

“Come now, don’t you think we’re past the last names thing, Sherlock? Call me Jim.” It wasn’t a request, and the criminal made sure his tone showed that.

 

“Fine; Jim, let me have it. You are in my flat after all.” Sherlock was being a brat. Jim would usually let it go, he was bored, but not today.

 

“Nope. Go in the other room, darling.” The madman did an intricate dance with his fingers; to show a spinning around motion and then a walking one.

 

Sherlock, like the smart boy he is, spun around and walked out of the kitchen. Jim hummed, and took another sip from the coffee. He’d make him wait; he could already hear the man pacing in the other room.

 

But, he was remaining in there. That’s all that mattered at the moment.

  
  


                                                                                                    **_~~******~~_**

 

Jim stayed with Sherlock all morning. By noon, he was back in the same state he was the night before. By 13:00, he was back in Jim’s lap.

 

Moriarty sighed, well that was already starting to get annoying. He’d teach Sherlock how to ask before just barrelling into his lap. He bounced the detective up and down slightly, taking out his phone. He texted a few people advice on how to pull stuff off; nothing too interesting that really made him think. “Soon enough, Sherlock, there’ll be something to occupy you.”

 

He watched the curls bounce up and down, as Sherlock nodded. He believed him. Wonderful. A face nuzzled into his shoulder, and Jim rolled his eyes when his pet couldn’t see. It might be pathetic, but it was something close to what Jim wanted.

 

The consulting criminal stood up, with the detective in his arms. He walked over to the mantel, picking up ‘Billy’, the skull, and went to sit back down. He held the skull and allowed Sherlock to babble at it, his words going too fast for even Jim to be able to keep up with.

 

Caring for his pet was tedious, Jim would admit, but it satisfied him. _His_ possession was _his_ at the moment, and knew he was his; and _needed_ him. That was the only reason he was sitting here with the sniveling man.

 

Jim’s phone started ringing, his ringtone still _Stayin’ Alive._ Sherlock jumped at the noise, his eyes darting all around, like a scared animal. Jim shushed him, and took the phone out of his pocket, pressing the button to answer the call and holding it up to his ear, “Hello?”

 

“Boss, where th’ hell are y’?” It was Sebastian. Of course, that little shit would annoy him.

 

“I’m with our darling Sherlock, I’ll be available later.” He then hung up, knowing that his sniper wouldn’t risk bothering him again; especially not when he’s spending time with his favorite pet.

 

Sherlock looked up at Jim with wide, cloudy, blue eyes. Jim placed a kiss on his forehead, and the detective went silent and still.

 

Jim swore he saw a blush.

 

What a _cutie._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are getting suckier, and suckier as time goes on but I'm really trying here. 
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I know I took some of these ideas from a theory called "THE M THEORY" I don't know who it's by, I think they're called 'loudest-subtext-in-television' or something like that. I read it a while ago.
> 
> This is my first attempt at Sheriarty; and I'm sure it'll end up being horrible but let's just go for it. Mmhm.


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